Today's poem is by Justin Courter

Before it Was a Business

Hey you disastrous sasquatch—watch where the hell you're
dancing. This isn't some sausage stand, it's a location. That's
right, I built this bastard with my own bare feet and my
grandmother's dowry and I can kick the whole flick back to
the kung fu age. So just put the donuts on my stomach where
they can get some rest and strap yourself to that wrecking
ball. Don't forget your microphone. Where's whatsherface?
You know I don't allow showers. These cream meringues step
right out of character from the trailer and land on the settee
smelling like blank pieces of paper and acting as such. Who
put that volcano there? There's no volcano in this love scene;
it's supposed to be an earthquake. Get me an earthquake.
Ever heard of a fucking phone? Oh that sonofabitch. If
his urge is to move magazines, tell him, it's an apocalyptic
monster romance with all the spaghetti fixin's. So? I've been
in this business since before it Was a business and it's still
more like a singing penis contest than anything else. What
do you mean he smoked the script? Have I awoken in high
school? Gimme that thing. Hi, Bernie? You can push that
dancer right off your lap and get your drunk ass down here,
we're going to go the whole banana. Szechwan style. Right,
just like that kiddie porn picture. Now, somebody get Julie
over here to tell me what in the wet shit I was just thinking a
second ago. Goddamnit. There's that insufferable sasquatch
again. Will somebody kill him slowly por favor? I want to
hear every drop of blood.

Copyright © 2008 Justin Courter All rights reserved
from The Death of the Poem and Other Paragraphs
Main Street Rag
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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